Tuesday, March 30, 2010

The day began fine - baby babbling to big sister was my wake-up call, Paris did her regular morning wee on the potty and... I have mentioned we put our 3 month old on the potty, haven't I? Anyhow, another post another day.

So yes, Paris did her regular morning wee on the potty and then we foolishly failed to stick to the regular as clockwork routine. Normally, she will then have 1/3 of a feed and do her regular morning poo in the rocker... We changed it up slightly by putting her in the rocker ahead of schedule and, as anyone addicted to regularity knows, you can't change a winning combination.

Anyway, fast forward through 2 hours of screaming, feeding, failing to go and falling into "one-eye open" sleep and my cruisy morning before heading into Bigger Town was converted into throw-it-all-together madness to get to an appointment on time.

I had shakey faith in the "one-eye open" sleep, and as I tossed the "throw on clothes now" vs "quick shower" decision into the air, the one-eye open turned into two and speed trumped cleanliness. This is an important factor to contemplate as the day wore on.

So Paris got another go round on the Rocker, and this time the job was done, and done extremely effectively I might add. (In fact, so effectively, the rocker was quarantined and considered of no further use until decontamination measures had been utilised.) In a regular morning, this is when my shower would take place, combined with a hosing down of the child - but as I was already dressed, this favour fell to V.

Chapter 2 - The Hurrieder I Go, the Behinder I Get

Once the ablutions were made, our "throw-it-all-together madness to get to an appointment on time" haste was doubled. V put Paris into her carseat and I gathered all essentials - paperwork to drop into the school for P&C, Baby Book for Paris' appointment, Nappy Bag, Water, car keys... Oh, car keys? "Honey, where are the car keys?" I asked with very little panic in my voice.

V has a thing about routine. If you have a routine you NEVER lose things, apparently. And I do - regularly lose things, but I always find them again and anyhow, car keys are not things I generally lose and - hang on. V was the last one to drive so "Honey, where are the car keys?" I asked again, this time knowing it wasn't MY fault.

V found the Post Office Key (which he had borrowed to check the Post Box for me last week) but not the car keys. He searched his usual spots where his keys always go in his routine - but only his car keys were there. He searched the nappy bag (where my keys always go in my routine) - no keys. He searched upstairs while I searched the car... I then turned and saw them sitting on a chair that he uses to put on his boots and contemplate life. Phew. I did think about putting the Post Office Key onto the ring but... (insert ominous music)

So, on the road we went, having only 35 minutes to get to the appointment - it only takes 25 minutes to get there, but you always have to factor in chronic lack of parking and the decent walk required to get from a park to the labrinth that is the hospital.

Two minutes into the drive, I remember one very important element missing from my morning. You see, I do have a routine, and I have routines within routines - and thus my decision to dress and postpone my shower until a more timely moment meant...

"Honey," I said, "I forgot my deodorant". Not having any time to turn around and fix that problem (or indeed dash into any shops, buy some emergency spray for the glovebox and use it - once upon a time I was so prepared, but the emergency spray became my bathroom spray many months ago during a whole different one of THOSE days) so it was agreed I was not to engage in any hands on hips type stances during our outing.

We got there with 15 minutes to spare, and 8 of those were then used up in doing the mandatory cruise up and down the street the hospital is housed in, hoping for some stranger to emerge and their vacation of a park to coincide happily with our search - but it was not to be. Finally we abandoned all hope and parked illegally (with 80-100 others who had gone through the same motions) about 5 blocks aways and unpacked the pram, the baby and all the goods and chattels required.

"Honey," said V, "I forgot my shoes." All I could do was laugh helplessly. Again, the routine breakdown had kyboshed V's excellent organisation, and his shoes remained footless beside the chair that held the keys that caused the search that broke the routine in the first place!

So, off we set for our 5 block walk, me with arms planted firmly at my sides and V gingerly, hoping that no foreign objects would do damage to his hooves.

Chapter 3 - In the Hands of the Experts

We raced in to the hospital, hoping to gain no notice. In this whole town we know 3 people who work in this hospital. Within metres of the doorway we bumped into the first.

"Watch your step" he said, but luckily it was not about issues of the feet but the strategically placed steps in the middle of the main entrance corridor of the hospital (because it is one of those hospitals that set little logic conundrums out there, such as "why the heck it would ever have strategically placed steps in the middle of the main entrance corridor?").

We raced to the lift, hoping we would have it to ourselves, given our olfactory and foot-factory issues, but of course that was not to be. In this whole town we know 3 people who work in this hospital. We arrived at the lift at the same time as one of the softball coaches - who also works at the hospital.

We have regular appointments at the Paediatric Ward, as Paris was born with "Clicky Hips" - we have done a stint in double nappies and had many ultrasounds (complete with vocal protests) but it has all had tentative thumbs up and "come back and see"s at the end of each appointment.

Last week, we went to the Zone Trials for Softball (another blog I didn't get around to writing - sorry), and so the 3-month check-up had to be moved. When I rang to move it, the girl on the end of the phone said "no problem, we will make it the same time the week after - we will call you if there is any problem".

Now, as I had no call, I had been under the impression that the same time the week after was when we had Paris' 3-month check-up. I mean, given that conversation and that set of variables, that is the logical conclusion.

Of course, I had made the error of logical assumption, which is a rule not applied in hospital administration.

It appears that the girl on the end of the phone said "no problem, we will make it the same time the week after - we will call you if there is any problem" - but did so with no actual contact of pen to paper or indeed follow-through.

Therefore, the next hour was spent with the Paediatric Unit chasing Paris' chart all over the hospital, us trying not to imagine the conversations (this barefoot guy, stinky chick and very cute baby walk into the Paediatric Unit...)

However, we did end up seeing another paediatrician who gave us the tentative thumbs up and "come back and see"s at the end of the appointment.

Epilogue

Most of that was written during an unprecedented 45 minute nap during the day today.

I could have gone on about more key loss and toileting behaviour, but as that was hours ago and, although I am finally relieved of maternal duties it appears that my bed is calling me in rather urgent tones.

As Paris continues her anti-vampire strategy of sleeping through most nights beautifully but avoiding long periods of sleep during the day, my blogging ability (or indeed, any long period on-computer activity) has greatly diminished. Apologies to those who I used to visit but only do so sporadically these days.

Oh - and for those just here for the photos:

On the way back from softball last week, we are driving away from the proverbial pot of gold!

But this was gold - 'Salina slugging a few teammates home!! She didn't get into the Zone team, but did gain a dozen new girlfriends and a renewed enthusiasm, which was the aim of our game.

And I may have mentioned that, while a thing of delight and beauty, the latest addition to our household has a weebit of an issue with daylight hours and the desparation of sleep deprivation (which, quite frankly, is a far less chronic version than the one of the off-the-rack babies that have not yet got the whole "sleep through the night thing" that our special order has... I am not swapping)

Add to the above thought strands the concept that I live in a house that is reputed to have been originally owned by an electrician. He obviously hated his work. With a vengance. You can tell this by the way that he installed only 1 power point in the whole of the living room.

That one power point has to provide power to the television (works), the set-top box (works to a degree - there is an unwritten post or two regarding that issue), the video recorder(works)/dvd player (weather-dependent - on sunny days), the fan (a necessity during Summer here) and the stereo...

If I vacuum - or we decide to blow up the spare mattress - or have to charge other equipment, generally the stereo is the one to be unplugged due to the complicatedness of the whole TV set up and the neccessitativeness (I know, I know, but it is late and it conveys what I think I mean) of the fan.

And while it may have been mentioned that I do not greatly covet the title of Housekeeper of the Year I do know my way around the 25 year old (all modern ones die too soon) vacuum cleaner - and apply such knowledge on occasion - and sometimes I am just too darned lazy to plug the stereo back in.

It has come to pass that one lovely blogging friend, Debby at Life's Funny Like That took great pains to track down a special CD for Paris and I to enjoy the benefits of. Aren't some online friends amazing?

I am a pretty crap IRL friend (and relative, I know) who keeps meaning to email The Circle and ask them what is the statute of limitations on thank you notes, because I am that girl.

I mean, not only have I yet to do the birth presents for Paris, but also the wedding and right back through all of 'Salina's (and my own) birthdays - I really, really mean to (and have lists from virtually all these occasions) but I am caught in a horrible dilemna... (and yes, I KNOW I spelt it wrong, but I now deliberately pronounce it that way)

I cannot write a note. I want to put everything in. And therefore I build myself a huge task with what should really be a bread-and-butter note. And then I add in all the other things I should be thanking for. And then life trips me up and before you know it 10 years have passed.

Anyway, during the ladies visit a few weeks ago, I received the CD that Debby sent, and I thought "beauty, I should let her know it is received and test that out".

And then...

And then...

(Enter the image of me hanging my head in shame)

And then I did neither. Instead, I filed the CD in the box that is currently my to-do pile and got all caught up in what happens when you mean to be DOING...

I am so sorry Debby!

So when I finally tripped over that box that is currently my to-do pile because I it was getting to be a bigger mess than the room it is hidden in and found the CD today, I thought "beauty, I should let her know it is received and test that out".

Well, I took that CD and I marched - nay, skipped to where the stereo resides. Within 3 feet of me was the delightful Paris, the ideal test subject for our international experiment.

However, the stereo was not yet plugged.

I plugged and selected the buttons for the CD...

And this is where I encountered yet another example of me + technology = FAIL because it seems that the stereo has reduced itself from a "stereo with 1 working speaker, static FM reception and a dodgy tape deck" to a "stereo with 1 working speaker, static FM reception, dodgy tape deck AND weather-dependent CD capabilities".

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Yes, one of those "oh my I haven't updated anyone for an age" and before you contemplate just WHAT dire things may have happened when my MIL fed me her lasagne, let me assure you that we are all hale and hearty and in love with all members of extended family that we have met thus far.

However, now the US is blessed again with MIL and her friend where they can recount adventures of the land of the endless cloudburst. I think they got 3 days of sunshine in all of their travels - which is great for the mother/son bonding opportunities (when it rains, V can't work) but not the best advertisement for the "Sunshine State".

Of course, the next few days looks like more of the same, with Tropical Cyclone Ului set to cross the coast and give some amazing surf conditions. Thank goodness Ului started in Fiji, otherwise it would be TC Laurence which sounds far more stuck up.

Spag Bog caused a bit of consternation on my last post - it is the Aussification of Spaghetti Bolognaise (obviously) and every mama has HER OWN recipe for it. My mothers originated on the back of a Campbell's can and is pretty fantastic - my version has a few additions and all too often no wine (as I haven't had a quoffing bottle available for the pot of late).

We now have a set-top box that works - after a fashion. There is a HUGE post in my draft section about the adventures there - rivals the washing machine saga... Suffice to say that it ain't all it is cracked up to be, and hasn't been there for me in my hour of need (which tends to be between 2 and 4 am - the dreaded Infomercial Hour). The good news is that Paris has decided for the main part that it is also woeful to be awake for such viewing and so sleeps through.

Thursday, March 04, 2010

Many moons ago, I was enticed by a certain dating profile - the results, as you know, have been very positive, with by-products of a wedding and a baby (thus far).

One part of his profile, however, has always intriged. V mentioned his passion for cooking, especially his Mama's Lasagne.

I think it was a lure, as I have never yet been party to eating such a dish. He does a mean line in steamed veges and is a dab hand with the grill pan (and even the barbeque) but the said lasagne is but a mythical dish in our relationship.

Its not that we have been lasagne-less (a fate considered on par with starvation according to 'Salina) - I have even imparted several recipes here boasting about the deliciousness that is the lasagne that graces our table on occasion (too rare by 'Salina's standards, too often according to the bathroom scales).

However, tonight I have to wait no longer. Of course, I had to wait until Mama actually travelled half the world and negotiate with her to prepare the mythical dish.

I will give you the verdict soon. (oh, and MIL is a gem. She even got to read my blog yesterday - and laughed at the last post that I wrote. And not a maniacal "if only she knew" sort of cackle but a real one. If she has noticed the mess she is too polite to comment and both daughters tick her boxes of great kids - so successful thus far. We are taking her and her travelling companion on a trip this weekend - trial by long-distance transportation... Stay tuned)

Do you have a childhood dish you need your mum to visit and prepare for you ever?

There are many from mine - my mother may have learned to cook later than many of her peers - but we rarely saw her culinary flaws (although there was the occasional dish that caused mystery illnesses).

Those that didn't included her Spag Bog (does everyone's mum have their own version?), Roasts, Curries (back in the day when "Curry" meant Keen's powder and sultanas in the stew) and Slices. I can't pick one (which was also always the case at birthdays, when you got to demand your favourite feed) - although her Tuna Mornay is always a winner.

Its funny - most of her dishes became my dishes, and although I have probably altered every one of her staples, it does give a warm glow as I cook them thinking about her.

(NB - most of this post was written yesterday - before ingestion - it was delicious!!)